"Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much;Wisdom is humble that he knows no more."—COWPER.
When I came to Aldington I found that by the energy of the Vicar an elementary school had been built and equipped, and was working well under the voluntary system. I accepted the post of treasurer at his invitation, but as time went on financial difficulties arose, as the Education Department increased their requirements. The large farmers were being gradually ruined by foreign competition, and the small market-gardeners, in occupation of the land as it fell vacant, could not be induced to subscribe, although their own children were the sole beneficiaries. A voluntary rate was suggested, but met with no general response, one old parishioner announcing that she didn't intend "to pay no voluntary rate until she was obliged"!
Matters were getting desperate when Vicar No. 2 arrived, and it soon became evident that the voluntary system had completely broken down. A School Board was the only alternative, and, as all the old managers refused to become members and no one else would undertake the responsibility, a deadlock ensued. We were threatened by the Education Department that, failing a Board of parishioners, they would appoint for the post any outsiders, non-ratepayers, who could be induced to volunteer. The prospect was not a pleasant one, and on the invitation of a deputation of working men, I agreed to stand (chiefly, perhaps, in my own interests, as the largest ratepayer in the parish, with the exception of the Great Western Railway Company), and others eventually came forward.
The Board was constituted, and we were rather a three-cornered lot: my co-warden; a boot and shoemaker in Evesham, with land in Badsey; a carpenter and small builder; three small market-gardeners and myself. I was elected chairman, and we obtained the services of an excellent clerk, who held the same office for the Evesham Board of Guardians—a capable man, and well up in the forms and idiosyncrasies of the Board of Education. Our designation was "the United District School Board of Badsey, Aldington, and Wickhamford." It was not easy to discover the qualifications of all the members from an educational point of view; some at least represented the village malcontent section, now getting rather nervous as to School Board rates. And there was a talkative section who illustrated the truth of the old proverb, "It is not the loudest cackling hen that lays the biggest egg," and of, perhaps, the still more expressive, "It's the worst wheel of the waggon that makes the most noise." One, at any rate, was definitely qualified—"He knowed summat about draining!" The majority were conspicuous as economists in the matter of probable school expenditure, and it appeared later that two, if not three, of the members were unable to write their own names, so that sometimes we could not get the necessary number of signatures to the cheques, when some of the more efficient members happened to be absent.
Early in our existence as a United Board, one of the economists made a little speech in which he propounded the theory that "our first duty is to the ratepayers"; but I could not help suggesting that, as a legally appointed body, we were bound to obey the law beyond all other considerations, and corrected his dictum, with all respect, by substituting that "our first duty is to the children." I must do him the justice to say that he accepted my suggestion in a complimentary manner.
It soon became evident that it is not always desirable to belong to a parish grouped with others under a United District School Board. Aldington possessed the largest rateable value with the lowest population, which was about equal to Wickhamford with the lowest rateable value; and Badsey, with by far the largest population, came between Aldington and Wickhamford as to rateable value—the obvious result being that Aldington was called upon to pay an excessive and unfair share of the cost of educating Badsey's children. We did not, however, want a school in our quiet village; it is something to get rid of children when inclined to be noisy, so we did not grumble at a little extra expense.
We carried on the school at first in the old building, but very soon the Department began to press for a larger and better-equipped establishment. Many of their requirements we considered unnecessary in a country village, and put off the evil day as long as possible, with such phrases as, "The matter is under consideration," or, "Will shortly be brought to the notice of the Board." Like "retribution," however, the Education Department, "though leaden-footed, comes iron-handed," and when all other methods failed they always put forward as a final inducement to comply with their demands the threat of withholding the Government grant; so that, in spite of the shoemaker's encomium, that "Our chairman has plenty of com_bat_iveness," we had eventually to give way.
At the outset it was decided to admit the Press; our meetings were generally expected to afford some spicy copy for readers of the local papers, but I am pleased to think that both reporters and readers were disappointed. Some of our neighbours had given us specially lively specimens of the personalities indulged in at the meetings of their local bodies, Boards of Guardians, and Councils—notably, at that time, those of Winchcombe and Stow-on-the-Wold, where these exhibitions appeared to form a favourite diversion. It is a mistake for such a Board as ours to admit reporters; the noisy members are apt to monopolize the speaking, to the exclusion of the more useful and more thoughtful; the former play to the gallery to the extent of visibly addressing themselves to the reporters instead of to the chairman, as is proper.
The first point we had to consider was the acquisition of a suitable site for the new buildings, the old site not affording space to enlarge the premises or for the addition of a master's house. We were lucky to get the offer of an excellent position, allowing not only space for all the buildings in contemplation, but ample room for future enlargements, which it was evident would be needed before many more years. I was requested, with another member, to interview the vendor's solicitors, and we were empowered to make the best bargain we could arrange for the site.
We concluded the purchase, and congratulated ourselves upon the acquisition of a central and in every way desirable site, with a long road frontage, for the very moderate sum of, I think, £90. On reporting to the Board at our next meeting, the sum appeared large to some of the more simple members, and they were inclined to be dissatisfied, until I told them that I was prepared to appropriate the bargain myself, and they could find another for the school. This settled the matter, and, I suppose, at the present time the site would fetch two or three times what it cost us.
Plans and specifications were now necessary, and from inquiries I had made I was able to suggest an architect with much experience in school buildings. He appeared before the Board later, and was subjected to many questions from the members, of which I only remember one that appealed to me as original: "Do you pose before this Board as an economical architect?" We soon had the work in train, but, of course, before any active steps were taken, all our proposals were submitted to, and approved by the Education Department.
The question of religious instruction became urgent, and I was pleased and surprised at carrying a unanimous resolution through the Board—although it included some Nonconformists—that the Vicar (No. 2), who had declined to be nominated as a candidate for election, should be invited to undertake the religious instruction of the school. The Vicar consented, and the arrangement worked smoothly for some years. One day, later, a member rose, and inquired if the children were receiving religious instruction. "Yes," I said. "Are the children taught science?" "Yes," again. "Well," said he, "how do you reconcile the fact, when religion and science are not in agreement?" Fortunately, I had been lately taking a course of Darwin, and I was able to refer him to the concluding lines of theOrigin of Species. We debated the matter with some energy, but having made his protest, the member was satisfied to let the matter drop.
All went well thereafter until we were settled in the new building, and Vicar No. 3 was in possession of the living. He was young and inexperienced in the conduct of a parish, and was imbued with ideas of what he considered a more ornate and elaborate form of worship. Innovations followed—lighted candles over the altar and the appointment of a Server at the Communion Service. Almost immediately I heard objections from the villagers; they could not understand the necessity for a couple of dim candles in a church on a summer day, when the whole world outside was ablaze with the glory of the sun.
A member arose at a Board meeting, and began: "Mr. Chairman, I wish to draw the attention of the Board to the question of religious instruction in the school, for I reckon that our children are being taught a lot of Popery." I could see that he had been in consultation with other members of the Board, and that he had a majority behind him. I tried hard to smooth matters over, but they had made up their minds, and he carried his resolution that, in future, the new Vicar should be authorized to enter the school for the purpose of religious instruction only one day a week! I think this small indulgence was accorded only as a result of my efforts in his favour, though I was by no means pleased with the innovations myself.
I put the matter before the Vicar, asking him if he thought his novelties were worth while in the face of the opposition of the village and the loss of his religious influence with the children. He would not go back from what, he said, he regarded as a matter of principle, and could not see that he was throwing away a unique opportunity, but he agreed to withdraw the unwelcome Server.
In spite of the fact that every detail of the new school building had been submitted to, and approved by, the Education Department, trouble began with an officious inspector, who on his first visit complained of the ventilation. An elementary school is never exactly a bed of roses, but we had a lofty building and classrooms, with plenty of windows, which could be adjusted to admit as much or as little fresh air as was requisite. We protested without result, and we had eventually to pull the new walls about and spend £20 on what we considered an uncalled-for alteration.
Our inspectors of schools varied greatly: some were quiet with the children and considerate with the teachers; others vindicated their authority by unnecessary fault-finding, upsetting the teachers and alarming the children. In the days of our voluntary school I have seen a room full of children in a state of nervous tension, and the mistress and pupil-teachers in tears, as the result of inconsiderate reprimands and irritable speech. My sympathies have been strongly aroused on such occasions with a child's terror of being made an exhibition before the others. As a boy at Harrow, in the form of the Rev. F.W. Farrar, afterwards Dean of Canterbury, I had an unpleasant experience, though it was no fault of his and quite unintentional. The Russian Government had sent a deputation of two learned professors to England, to inquire into the educational system of the Public Schools, with the view of sending a member of the Royal family for education in this country. Among other schools, they visited Harrow, and Mr. Farrar's form was one of those selected for inspection. It was the evening of a winter's day, when, at the four o'clock school, we found two very formidable-looking old gentlemen in spectacles and many furs seated near the master's desk. Great was the consternation, but Mr. Farrar was careful not to call upon any boy who would be likely to exhibit himself as a failure. I was seated near Mr. Farrar, at one end of a bench. He had a habit, when wanting to change his position, of moving quite unconsciously across the intervening space between his desk and this bench, and placing one foot on the bench close to the nearest boy, he would, with one hand, play with the boy's hair, while he held his book in the other. With horror, I found him approaching, and shortly his hand was on my head, rubbing my hair round and round, and ruffling it in a fashion very trying to any boy who was neat and careful of his personal appearance. I could see the Russians staring through their spectacles at these proceedings; possibly they thought it a form of punishment unknown in Russia, and my feelings of humiliation can be imagined. Finally he gave me a smack on the cheek and retired to his desk, leaving my hair in a state of chaos, though he had not the least idea of having done anything which might appear unusual to the foreigners.
Dear "old Farrar"!—as we irreverently called him—it was an education in itself to be in his form. I had the uncommon privilege of moving upwards in the School at very much the same rate as he did as a master, though I fear for my school reputation none too quickly. He first kindled my admiration for the classic giants of English literature, more especially the poets, taught me to appreciate the rolling periods of Homer, and even the beauty of the characters of the Greek alphabet. He was a voluminous student of the best in every form of ancient and modern literature. He always kept a copy of Milton, his favourite poet I think, on his desk, and, whenever a passage in the Greek or Latin classics occurred, for which he could produce a parallel, quoted pages without reference to the book.
I recall my delight and pride when I was sent on two occasions to the headmaster, Dr. Butler, the late Master of Trinity, with copies of original verses; and the honour I felt it to inscribe them, at Mr. Farrar's request, in a MS. book he kept for the purpose of collecting approved original efforts in the author's own writing. For it was his habit once a week to give us subjects for verses or composition. A unique effort of the Captain of the School cricket eleven, C.F. Buller, comes back to me as I write; it did not however appear in the MS. book. The School Chapel was the subject, full of interest and stirring to the imagination, if only for the aisle to the memory of Harrow officers who fell in the Crimea. Buller's flight of imagination was as absurd as it was impertinent:
"The things in the Chapel nonsense are,Don't you think so dear Fa_rrar_!"
Mr. Farrar, however, never took offence at such sallies. I remember, when he was denouncing the old "yellow back" novels, murmurs becoming audible, which were intended to reach him, of "Eric! Eric!"—the title of his early school-boy story—he only smiled in acknowledgment. And on an April 1st several boys who had plotted beforehand gazed simultaneously and persistently at a spot on the ceiling, until his eyes followed theirs unthinkingly in the same direction, when it occurred to him, as nothing unusual was visible, that it was All Fools' Day. He was very playful and indulgent; he kept a "squash" racquet ball on his desk, and could throw it with accurate aim if he noticed a boy dreaming or inattentive. He would never when scoring the marks enter a 0, even after an abject failure, always saying, "Give him a charity 1!"
Boys are quick judges of sermons: if interested, they listen without an effort; if not interested, theycannotlisten. Whenever Mr. Farrar's turn came as preacher in the School Chapel there was a subtle stir and whisper of appreciation, "It's Farrar to-day." He was a natural orator. I can still hear his magnificent voice swelling in tones of passionate denunciation decreasing to gentle appeal, and dying away in tender pathos. This was education in the true sense of the word, and though I have wandered a long way from my immediate subject, I feel that the digression is not irrelevant in contrast with the mechanical instruction that goes by the name of education in the Board Schools. I cannot help recalling too that in the ancient IVth Form Room at Harrow, the roughest of old benches were, and I believe still are, considered good enough for future bishops, judges, and statesmen; while in the Board Schools expensive polished desks and seats have to be provided at the cost of the ratepayers to be shortly kicked to pieces by hobnailed shoes.
I was present at some amusing incidents in examinations at our village school. A small boy was commanded by an inspector to read aloud, and began in the usual child's high-keyed, expressionless, and unpunctuated monotone: "I-have-six-little-pigs-two-of-them-are-white-two-of-them-are-black-an d-two-of-them-are-spotted." "That's not the way to read," interposed the inspector. "Give me the book." He stood up, striking an attitude, head thrown well back, and reading with great deliberation and emphasis: "I havesixLITTLE PIGS; two of them arewhite! Two of them areblack! and (confidentially) two of them are spot_tered_!"
I once picked up an elementary reading book in the school, and read as follows: "Tom said to Jack, 'There is a hayrick down in the meadow; shall we go and set it on fire?'" And so on, with an account of the conflagration, highly coloured. So much for town ideas of the education of country children; the suggestion was enough to bring about the catastrophe, given the opportunity and a box of matches.
Some of the inspectors were very agreeable men; they occasionally came to luncheon at my house, and I once asked where the best-managed schools were to be found. The reply was, "In parishes where the voluntary schools still exist, and the feudal system is mildly administered."
Our villagers, reading of the large sums that we were obliged to expend in response to the requirements of the Education Department, and finding the consequent rates a burden, began to think of economy and nothing but economy, so that though I had expected them to be only too anxious to provide the very best possible education for their own children, it came as a surprise that this was quite a subordinate aim to that of keeping down the cost. And this was the more unexpected, as the main cost fell upon the large ratepayers, like myself and the railway company and the owners of land and cottages rented rate-free. At the next election several of these economists became candidates, with the result that many of the original members including myself were not returned, in spite of the fact that our well-planned and well-built schools were erected at a lower cost per child than any in the neighbourhood. I was not sorry to escape from the monotony of listening to interminable debates as to whether a necessary broom or such-like trifle should be bought at one shilling or one and threepence. For this was the kind of subject that the Board could understand and liked to enlarge upon, while really important proposals were carried with little consideration. As a matter of fact, members of a School Board are no more than dummies in the hands of an inflexible Department, and are appointed to carry out orders and regulations without the power of modification, even when quite unsuitable for a country village school.
There was some little excitement at the election; one of the members of the old Board had been called "an ignoramus," in the stress of battle, and being much concerned and mystified asked a neighbour what the term signified, adding, no doubt thinking of a hippopotamus, that he believed it was some kind of animal! His knowledge of zoology was probably as limited as that disclosed by the following story:
A menagerie was on view at Evesham, to the great joy of many juveniles as well as older people, for such exhibitions were not very common in the town. Very early next morning, a farmer, living about two miles from Aldington, was awakened by a shower of small stones on his bedroom window. Looking out he saw his shepherd in much excitement and alarm. "Oh master, master, there's a beast with two tails, one in front and one behind, a-pullin' up the mangolds, and a-eatin' of 'em!" The farmer hurried to the spot and saw an African elephant which had escaped during the night; he was wondering how to proceed when two keepers appeared and the strange beast was led quietly back to the town.
As chairman of our School Board I early recognized among the members discoverers of mare's-nests, who lost no opportunity of exhibiting their own importance by intruding such matters into the already overflowingagenda, and my method of dealing with them was so successful, though I believe not original, that it may be found useful by those called upon to preside over any of the multitudinous councils now in existence. Whenever the member produced his cherished discovery—generally very shadowy as to detail—I proposed the appointment of a subcommittee, consisting of him and his sympathizers, to inquire into the matter, and report at the next Board meeting. In this way I shunted the bother of the investigation of usually some trifle or unsubstantiated opinion on to his own shoulders, so that, when he realized the time and trouble involved, he became much less interested, and we heard very little more of the subject.
I suppose that everybody living in a country parish, who can look back over the period of fifty years of compulsory education, would agree that the results are insignificant in comparison with the effort, and one cannot help wondering whether, after all, they justify the gigantic cost. We appear to have tried to build too quickly on an insecure foundation. Nature produces no permanent work in a hurry, and Art is a blind leader unless she submits to Nature's laws. The pace has been too great, and the fabric which we have reared is already showing the defects in its construction.
How otherwise can we account for the littleness of the men representing "the people," who have been rushed into the big positions, and for the vulgarity of the present age? Vulgarity in public worship; vulgarity in the manners, the speeches, and the ideals of the House of Commons; vulgarity in "literature," on the stage, in music, in the studio, and in a section of the Press; vulgarity in building and the desecration of beautiful places; vulgarity in form and colour of dress and decoration. We are far behind the design and construction of the domestic furniture of 150 years ago, and we have never equalled the architecture of the earliest periods, for stability and stateliness.
The skim milk seems to have come to the top and the cream has gone to the bottom, as the result of the contravention of the laws of evolution, and the failure to perceive the analogy between the simplest methods of agriculture, and the cultivation of mentality. We have expected fruit and flowers from waste and untilled soil; we sowed the seed of instruction without even ploughing the land, or eradicating the prominent weeds, and we are reaping a crop of thistles where we looked for figs, and thorns where we looked for grapes. The seed scattered so lavishly by the wayside was devoured by the fowls of the air; that which was sown upon the stony places, where there was not much earth, could not withstand the heat of summer; and that which fell among thorns was choked by the unconquered possessors of the field. A little, a very little, which "fell into good ground brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold"; and therein lies our only consolation.
The educational enthusiasts of 1870 forgot that the material they had to work upon did not come from inherited refinement and intelligence; that it was evolved from a parentage content with a vocabulary of some 500 words; that there was little nobility of home influence to assist in the process of development; they crammed it with matter which it could not assimilate, they took it from the open country air and the sunshine, confined it in close and crowded school-rooms, and produced what we see everywhere at the present time, at the cost of physical deterioration—a diseased and unsettled mentality.
I am aware that there are those who decline to admit any influence of mental heredity, and argue that environment is the only factor to be considered. In a clever and well-reasoned work on the subject I lately read, this proposition was substantiated by instances observable especially among birds brought up in unnatural conditions. The writer, however, entirely forgot the most conclusive piece of evidence in favour of mental heredity which it is possible to adduce—namely, that of the brood of ducklings, who, in spite of the unmistakable manifestations of alarm on the part of a frantic foster-mother hen, take to the water and enjoy it on the very first opportunity.
"There is sweet music here that softer fallsThan petals from blown roses on the grass."The Lotus-Eaters.
Among village institutions a cricket club was started soon after I first came, and I was able to lend a meadow in which the members could play. I held the sinecure office of President. The members met, discussed ways and means, drew up regulations, and instituted fines for various delinquencies. Swearing was expensive at threepence each time, but there was no definition of what were to be considered "swear words." Locally, a usual expletive is, "daazz it," or, "I'll be daazzed," and it was not long before a member making use of this euphemism was accused of swearing. He protested that it was not recognized by philological authorities as coming under the category, but he had to pay up.
A village cricket match was regarded more as a contest than a pastime; each side feared the censure of his parish, if conquered, so nothing had to be given away likely to prove an advantage to an opposing team. I once saw a member snatch a bat belonging to his own club from one of the other side who was about to appropriate it for his innings with, "No you don't." How different is the feeling, and how ready to help, a member of a really sporting team would have been in similar circumstances! Referring to help or advice in cricket matters, a story is told of the late Dr. W.G. Grace. The incident happened in an adjoining county to Worcestershire. The great batsman, crossing Clifton Down, came upon some boys at cricket. Three sticks represented the wickets, arranged so wide apart that the ball could pass through without disturbing them. Ever ready to help, Dr. Grace pointed out the fault and readjusted the sticks; as he turned away he heard, "What does 'e know about it, I wonder!"
This carries me to a parallel happening at Stratford-on-Avon. The late Sir Henry Irving and a friend fell in with a native on the outskirts of the town, and being anxious to test the local reputation of the poet asked the man if he had heard of a person named Shakespeare. The man assented and volunteered the information that he was a writer. Did he "know what Shakespeare had written?" Their informant could not say, but, a moment after they had parted, he called back that he believed he had written "part of the Bible."
An ancient villager, who was secretary of our Club and always acted as umpire, gave me "out," incorrectly, for accidentally touching the wicket when the ball was "dead." I retired without contesting his decision, as I had been taught. Next time we met he apologized, having discovered his mistake, but he was greatly impressed by my practical example of "playing the game."
Cricket, though popular in my first years at Aldington, gradually became difficult to arrange. As the market-garden industry superseded farming, the young men found full employment for the long summer evenings on their allotments and those of their parents. In the winter, when horticultural work is not so pressing, they had plenty of time on their hands, and a football club was formed. It flourished exceedingly, and Badsey became almost invincible among the neighbouring villages and even against the towns. They distinguished themselves in the local League matches, and on one occasion, something like two thousand spectators assembled to witness a final which Badsey won, in the meadow I lent them; and I had the honour of presiding at a grand dinner to celebrate the event. I notice in the local papers that in spite of the interruption of the war they are now again thriving and earning new laurels.
Our most important fête day was that upon which the Badsey, Aldington, and Wickhamford Flower Show was held. The credit, for the original inception and organization of this popular festival, is almost entirely due, I think, to the public spirit and determination of my old friend and co-churchwarden, Mr. Julius Sladden, of Badsey, and it gives me much pleasure to record the debt of gratitude which the three villages still owe him.
The Show is held as nearly as possible on the day of the ancient Badsey wake, in most parishes still celebrated on the day of the patron saint. In the case of Badsey the anniversary of the wake is the 25th of July (St. James's day). As a wake Badsey's observance is a thing of the past; it was formerly a time of much cider-drinking, a meeting-day for friends and relations, and for various trials of strength and skill, though I believe the carousals outlasted the sports by many years.
Nothing happier, in the way of a revival, and more civilized enjoyment, could have been devised than a flower show, and it is now one of the most popular fixtures of the neighbourhood with exceedingly keen competition. Besides fruit, flowers, and vegetables, the exhibits include such produce as butter and eggs, and my wife was very successful with these, but on one occasion was rather disappointed to find a beautiful dish of Langshan eggs, almost preternaturally brown and rich-looking, disqualified. The judges were not acquainted with the peculiarities of the breed—then a new one—and the reason for disqualification, as we afterwards discovered, was "artificially coloured." I believe exhibitors have been known to use coffee for this purpose, and the judges, who had not the exhibitors' names before them, fancied this to be an instance.
The children's exhibits of wild flower bouquets I always considered at this and similar shows far the most interesting and beautiful among the flowers; but, unfortunately, they very soon droop in a hot tent and look rather unhappy.
Aldington Band was the outcome of a desire for musical expression on the part of a few parishioners with some skill and experience in such matters; it included performers on wind instruments and a big drum. The Band was unfortunate at first in purchasing instruments of differing pitch, as was discovered by my wife on attending a practice at the request of the members. She pointed out the fault, and found an instructor from Evesham to give them a course of lessons, so that with a new set of instruments they soon improved. It was difficult, at first, to find a suitable place for practice. A neighbour, a little doubtful as to their attainments, suggested the railway arch in one of my meadows as a nice airy spot under cover, but later expressed doubts as to the safety of the trains running overhead on account of the violence of the commotion beneath! This, of course, was mere chaff, for they soon became so efficient that a large room was found for them in the village, and eventually they were annually engaged to perform the musical programme at the Badsey, Aldington, and Wickhamford Flower Show. My gardener was the leading spirit of the Band, a great optimist and the most willing man of any who ever reigned in my garden. There was nothing he would not cheerfully undertake, and when we had a difficulty in finding a sweep as required, he volunteered for the work and became quite an adept, with the set of rods and brushes I bought for the purpose.
Our postman, though not a villager, was quite an institution; he walked a matter of ten miles a day from Evesham to Bretforton, taking Aldington and Badsey on the way, and back at night. He filled up the interval between the incoming and outgoing posts at Bretforton, working at his trade as tailor. Entering our village each evening, he announced his arrival by three blasts on his tin horn; he was very shy of being observed in this performance, and the people had to catch him as he passed and hand him their letters. He must have walked nearly 100,000 miles in the many years he was our postman, and he told me before I left that more letters were addressed to the Manor when I first came, than to all the rest of the houses in the village together. When correspondence became more general a pillar-box was erected, but I always regretted the loss of the familiar notes of the tin horn.
Among Aldington's amusements no account would be complete without a reference to the numerous concerts and entertainments for charitable objects which my wife organized, and in which her musical talent enabled her to take a prominent part; and although I feel some hesitation in dealing with so personal a matter, I am certain that many of those who co-operated with her in the organization and the performance of these affairs will be pleased to have their recollections of her own part in them revived.
She possessed a natural soprano voice of great sweetness and flexibility, in combination with the sympathetic ability and clear enunciation which add so much to the charm of vocal expression. She was not allowed to begin singing, in earnest, before she was nineteen, for fear of straining so delicate a voice, and she then had the advantage of the tuition of Signor Caravoglia, one of the most celebrated teachers of the time.
His method included deliberation in taking breath, thorough opening of the mouth, practice before a mirror to produce a pleasing effect, and to avoid facial contortion; he would not allow any visible effort, the aim being to sing as naturally and spontaneously as a bird. His wife played the accompaniments, so that the master could give his whole attention to the attitude, production, and facial expression of the pupil.
Signer Caravoglia only consented to teach her on the express condition that she would not sing in choruses, on account of the danger of strain and overexertion. She practised regularly, chiefly exercises, two hours a day in separate half hours. Her talent was soon recognized at Malvern, where she lived before her marriage, and her assistance was in great demand for amateur charity concerts.
I have a book full of newspaper reports of my wife's performances, containing notices of concerts at Malvern repeatedly, Kidderminster, Worcester, at Birmingham under the auspices of the Musical Section of the Midland Institute—a very great honour before a highly critical audience—Alcester, Pershore, Moreton-in-the-Marsh, Evesham, Broadway, Badsey, Wallingford, and a great many villages in the Evesham district. At Moreton she sang for the local Choral Society, taking the soprano solos in the first part of Haydn'sSpring, and the local paper reported that her "birdlike voice added much to the beauty of the cantata." In the second part of the concert she gaveThe Bird that came in Spring, by Sterndale Bennett. I was always a little nervous during this song in anticipation of the upper C towards the finale, but it never failed to come true and brilliant. As we were leaving by train the following morning we met a dear old musician who had taken part in the chorus of the cantata. He begged to be introduced to her, and said in his hearty congratulations on her performance, that never before had such a note been heard in Moreton.
At one of the Broadway concerts my wife had the pleasure of meeting Miss Maude Valerie White, who was playing the accompaniments for performers of her own compositions, includingThe Devout Lover, which, she told Miss White, she considered one of the best songs in the English language, at the same time asking for her autograph. Miss White was kind enough to write her signature with the MS. music of the first phrase—notes and words—of the song in a book which my wife kept for the autographs of distinguished musicians and celebrated people.
While at Malvern my wife once heard Jenny Lind in public, and she describes it as a most memorable occasion.
Jenny Lind had for some years retired from public performance, but consented to reappear at the request of a deputation of railway employees anxious to arrange a concert in aid of the widows and orphans of officials killed in a recent railway accident. She stipulated that she should sing in two duets only, choosing the other voice herself, and she selected Miss Hilda Wilson, the well-known contralto of that time.
They sang two duets by Rubinstein, one beingThe Song of the Summer Birds, full of elaborate execution. Her voice was so true, sweet and flexible, trilling and warbling like a bird, and taking the A flat as a climax of delight at the conclusion with the greatest ease, that with closed eyes it might have been taken for the effort of a young girl.
Jenny Lind was over seventy at the time; she was erect, tall, and graceful; she wore a black dress with a good deal of white lace, and a white lace cap. She was then Madame Otto Goldschmidt, living at the Wynd's Point on the Herefordshire Beacon of the Malvern Range, and had long been known as the "Swedish Nightingale."
"I'll give thrice so much landTo any well-deserving friend;But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair."—1 Henry IV.
Dealers of all kinds were much more frequent callers at farm-houses in the early days of my farming, than latterly when auction sales, to some extent, superseded private negotiations, but the horse-dealer remained constant, because comparatively few horses were offered by auction. The horse-dealers appeared to conform to an understanding that it was a breach of etiquette to exceed certain well-marked boundaries in their search for purchases, or to interfere in each other's business. This principle was carried so far as to prevent dealers from one of these "countries" purchasing a horse at a fair coming from another dealer's "country," and the understanding of course minimized competition likely to raise the price. The dealers however I think, gave fair values, governed for the most part by the prices obtainable by them in the large towns.
Most of my horses, when for sale, were bought by a man in a considerable way of business, a well-known breeder, too, of shire horses, taking many prizes at the leading shows. A handsome man with a presence, and an excellent judge, shrewd but straight. He would ask the price after examining the animal, and make an offer which he would very seldom exceed if refused at first; but he would spend some time in conversation, apparently quite irrelevant and very amusing, though always returning to the point at intervals with arguments in favour of the acceptance of his bid. He was so genial and pleasant and such good company, for no man was ever better acquainted with the ways of the world, that he very rarely, I think, left the premises without a deal, though sometimes he was in his gig before the final bargain was struck. It is a custom of the trade for the seller to give something back to the buyer by way of "luck money," and the last time I did business with him I refused to give more than one shilling each on two horses, as I never received more than that sum when a buyer myself. He accepted cheerfully, telling me that a shilling each was quite worth taking, as he had a thousand horses through his hands in the course of every twelve months, and that a thousand shillings meant £50 a year.
The best piece of horse-dealing I ever did, was the purchase of a six months old colt for £26, winning £20 in prizes with him as a two-year-old, working him regularly at three and four on the farm, and selling him at five for eighty guineas to a large brewery firm. Eighty guineas in those days was a big price for a cart horse, though, of course, in modern times, owing to the war, much higher prices can be obtained.
I remember another dealer, who, a notable figure in a white top hat with a deep black band, and large coloured spectacles, was to be seen at all the fairs and principal sales. He, too, had an ingratiating manner, and would accost a young farmer with a hearty, "Good-morning, Squire," or some such flattering introduction. A wise dealer always knows how to keep up amicable relations with a possible seller or buyer, and never descends to abuse, or the assumption of a personal injury if he cannot persuade a seller to accept his price, as is the case with some dealers with lesssavoir faire.
A successful cattle dealer I knew had similar tactics of fraternity, always addressing his sellers as "Governor," with marked respect. But the best instance of this diplomatic spirit occurred in the case of a deal between an old Hampshire friend of mine and a well-known and historic sheep dealer from the same county. My friend had lately become the happy father of twins, the fact being widely known in the neighbourhood, for he was a very prominent man. He had 100 sheep for sale, and the dealer was inspecting them, in a pen near the house. As the bargain proceeded, the front door opened, and a nurse-maid appeared with the twins in their perambulator. The dealer noticed them immediately, and was not slow to turn the incident to his advantage. "There they be, there they be, the little darlings," he called out, "a sovereign apiece nurse, a sovereign apiece." Diving into a capacious pocket, he pulled out a handful of gold and silver, and selecting two sovereigns he handed them to the nurse for the children. "After that," my friend said, "what could I do but sell him the sheep, though he got them at two shillings a head less than I ought to have made." Now two shillings a head, on one hundred sheep, represents ten pounds, leaving eight pounds which the dealer earned by his keen insight into human nature.
This dealer carried on business with a brother, and they were to be seen for very many years at all the large Hampshire summer sheep fairs, where indeed, sometimes, when prices were rising, they owned nearly all the sheep offered for sale, having bought them up beforehand. As in a favourable summer when there was plenty of keep and a good prospect of abundant roots prices would rise as much as 10s. a head during the months of the big fairs, and as at a single fair as many as 30,000 sheep would be for sale, the chances of profit offered to the courageous dealer with capital are manifest.
Though risen from small beginnings, these brothers amassed considerable fortunes, all of which, it was said, they invested in real estate, so that they were known at one time to be worth at least £100,000; and, as they continued in business for some years after the time of which I am writing, they must have exceeded that sum considerably as a total, though the values of land began to fall away towards the end of their active existence.
The more energetic of the two used very original phrases, in which he extolled the physical virtues of flocks he had to sell; referring to their size, he would say, "Just look at their backs! look at their backs! they be as long as a wet Sunday!" Watching him, you could see that while giving full attention to his customer, and keeping him in a good humour with pleasant chat, while a bargain was proceeding, his glance perpetually wandered to the moving crowd around the pens, and that he had not only eyes, but ears, open to catch any impression bearing on the progress of the general trade. He knew everybody, and intuition told him upon what business they were present.
These two dealers combined money-lending with sheep-dealing; if a buyer had not the ready cash they would give credit for the purchase price, the sheep forming the security; it being understood that when they were again for sale the lenders should have the selling of them on commission.
Speaking of horse-dealers I referred to the custom of giving "luck money," otherwise called "chap money." The word "chap" takes its derivation from the Anglo-Saxonceapprice or bargain, andceapean, to bargain, whence come the words "chop," to exchange; "cheap," "Cheapside," "Mealcheapen Street" in Worcester, "cheapjack," etc. Also, the prefix in the names of market towns, such as Chipping Campden, Chipping Norton, etc. There is a curious place-name here in Burley, New Forest, where I am now living, spelt "Shappen," which puzzled me until I chanced to meet with an ancient print of a village merry-making, with dancing and a May-pole and found that the name Shappen applied especially to the spot, and that not far away the Forest ponies and cattle were formerly penned for sale at an annual fair in a lane, still called Pound Lane "Pound" is from the Anglo-Saxonpund, a fold or inclosure. Shappen is evidently, therefore, derived fromceap(and possiblypund) as a place in which bargains were struck, and the name testifies to the extreme antiquity of the New Forest pony and cattle fair formerly held there.
There are several notable horse fairs still held near Evesham. Besides the one at Pershore, already mentioned, the most important fairs are held at Stow-on-the-Wold and Shipston-on-Stour, both very out-of-the-way places; and many stories of the wiles of horse-copers were related in connection therewith. I remember the following told as occurring at Stow-on-the-Wold. A man approached a simple-looking young farmer, and getting into conversation with him, pointed out a horse not far off, telling him that he had quarrelled with the owner who refused in consequence to sell him the horse which he wished to buy. He promised the farmer £2 if he would undertake the negotiation, and could buy the horse for £10. The farmer agreed, and after some apparent difficulty succeeded in effecting the purchase at the sum named, paid the money and returned with the horse to the place where he had left his acquaintance. The latter, however, had disappeared, and after searching the fair from one end to the other, the farmer took back the horse, to repudiate the bargain. The owner had also vanished, and the farmer found himself with an ancient screw, which eventually he was glad to get rid of at a pound a leg, losing £6 on the deal.
There are small pig-dealers, in almost every village, on the lookout for bargains, and very cute men they generally are. One of these well-known at Aldington, though nearly blind, could tell the points and value of any pig in a marvellous way almost by intuition; it was said of him that, "though blind, he was a better judge of a pig than most folks with their eyes open."
At farm and other auction sales there are always anxious buyers who make a practice of trying to depreciate ("crabbing," as it is called) any article or property they particularly wish to purchase, by making damaging statements or insinuations to anybody whom, they fear, is also a probable buyer. At a sale of cottage property adjoining a public-house, in a village not far from Aldington, a keen purchaser remarked that there was no water on the premises. The auctioneer, however, knowing that water was not his man's strong point, immediately replied, "Oh, never mind the water, sir, there's plenty of whisky to be had next door." At another property sale, the tenant of the house on offer, gratuitously informed me that the roof was in a very bad state; knowing my man, I was not surprised when the house was knocked down to him, but I never saw any repairs to the roof in progress afterwards.
A friend of mine had a caretaker in an empty house, and, finding that no applications to view ever got beyond that stage, called at the house with his wife, ostensibly as intending tenants. He was not personally known to the caretaker, and on making the usual inquiries, found the man by no means enthusiastic as to the amenities of the place, and particularly doubtful as to the drainage, so much so as to make it plain that any otherwise likely tenant would be repelled. Knowing that all the sanitary arrangements were in perfect order, he disclosed his identity, much to the dismay of the caretaker who, of course, was dismissed.
The person who asks damaging questions of the auctioneer or solicitor at a property sale, though perhaps not declared the buyer on the fall of the hammer, not infrequently proves later to have been so, having employed an agent to bid for him.
At a sale of farm stock and implements I was examining a waggon practically new, though with no intention of buying, when I was surprised by a cousin of the vendor volunteering the statement that, having lately borrowed the waggon, he noticed one of the wheels giving out a suspicious noise when in use, as if something were wrong. This was a particularly bad case of "crabbing," as the man eventually became the purchaser at a high price.
It is an alarming sensation to see one's name on a waggon for the first time, especially when the vehicle has been wholly repainted in blue or yellow to represent the owner's supposed political tendencies, for such was the custom in Worcestershire; but perhaps one's name, address, and crest on a hop-pocket is more alarming still, when we remember that twenty or more of these pockets, all marked alike, will form each of several loads to be carted from a London railway station to the Borough, the seat of the hop-trade, on the way to the factor's warehouses, for all beholders to "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest."
In the delightful and now somewhat rare bookTalpa; or, The Chronicles of a Clay Farm, by Chandos Wren Hoskins, one of the few agricultural works ever written by a scholar, he refers to his first experience of this sort, when speaking of his difficulty in making up his mind as to whether he should let the property into which he had just come by inheritance, or occupy it himself, as follows:
"What was to be done? Apostatize from all the promises and vows made from my youth up, and take itin hand—that is, in a bailiff's hand, which certain foregone experiences had led me to conceive was of all things the mostout of hand(if that may be called so, which empties the hand and the pocket too). Such seemed the only alternative! At first it was an impossibility—then an improbability—and then, as the ear of bearded corn wins its forbidden way up the schoolboy's sleeve, and gains a point in advance by every effort to stop or expel it, so did every determination, every reflection counteract the very purpose it was summoned to oppose, and, in short, one fine morning I almost jumped a yard backward at seeing—my own name on a waggon!"
The reference to a bailiff reminds me of my father's illustration, one evening at dessert, of the difference between a farmer selling his produce personally, or doing so through the medium of a bailiff. Taking three wine-glasses—No. 1 representing the farmer, No. 2 the bailiff, and No. 3 the purchaser—he filled No. 1 with port and poured the contents into No. 3; what few drops were left in No. 1 remained the property of the farmer. But if the wine were poured into No. 2, and from thence into No. 3, however much the complete transference was attempted, some small portion always remained for the benefit of the intermediary.
I always conducted my sales personally, except in small matters, and my experience in the latter proved an exception to the above rule, as I have previously related (pp. 17 and 20).
I commendTalpa, with George Cruikshank's clever illustrations, to the attention of all readers of the curiosities of agriculture, as well as to practical men; it is one of those uncommon books which enters into the humorous side of farming under disadvantages—as, for instance, prejudiced labourers who have long been employed upon such work as draining. The author found one of the men, after instructions to lay the pipes at a depth of three feet, cutting a drain about eighteen inches deep,laying in the tiles, one by one, and filling the earth in over them as he went. "I've been a-draining this forty year and more—I ought to know summat about it." The author adds, "Need I tell you who said this? or give you the whole of the colloquy to which it furnished the epilogue?"Talpawas published sixty-seven years ago, but it contains much that might well be taken to heart by our post-war amateur agricultural reconstructionists.
The tactics of a combination of buyers at a sale of household goods, with an arrangement for one man to buy everything they want, so as to avoid competition, is well known as "the knock out." I saw a most flagrant case at a sale of valuable books at an old Cotswold Manor House. The books were tied up, quite promiscuously, in parcels of half a dozen or more, and although the room was crowded with dealers who had been examining them with interest beforehand, practically only one bidder appeared, and nearly every lot was sold to him for a few shillings. I noticed several men taking notes of the prices made, and, immediately the book sale was finished, they removed them to the lawn, where they were resold by one of the gang at greatly enhanced prices. They would, of course, eventually deduct the original cost from the amount now realized and divide the difference amongst the buyers at the second sale,pro rata, according to the amount of each man's total purchases.
Cattle-dealers, with a reputation as judges of fat stock at auctions, have to be very careful not to let inexperienced butchers see them bidding, because the latter will bid on the strength of the dealer's estimate of value, arguing that the animal must be worth more to himself as a butcher, than to the dealer who has to sell again. I have often watched the crafty ways of such dealers not to give themselves away in this manner, and their methods of concealing their bids. One I particularly noticed, whose habit was to stand just below the auctioneer's rostrum, facing the animal in the ring, with his back to the auctioneer. When he wished to bid he raised his head very slightly, making a nod backwards to the auctioneer, who, knowing his man, was looking out for this method of attracting his attention.
Though the ordinary farm sale is by far the most amusing and picturesque, the sale of pedigree stock is much more sensational. When the shorthorn mania was at its height, and the merits of Bates and Booth blood were hotly debated, when such phrases as "the sea-otter touch," referring to the mossy coat of the red, white, or roan shorthorn, were heard, and the Americans were competing with our own breeders in purchasing the best stock they could find—prices were hoisted to an extravagant height. There is no forming a "knock-out" at a pedigree sale; sturdy competition is the only recognized method of purchase, and the sporting spirit is a strong incentive, especially when the vendor is known as a courageous buyer at the sales of the leading breeders.
I attended the dispersal of a herd where the owner had been for years one of these sporting buyers; he had, however, gone more for catalogue blue-blood than perceptible excellence, and the stock were brought into the ring scarcely up to the exhibition form which a pedigree sale demands. The American buyers were well represented, and the popularity of the vendor brought a great crowd of home buyers, so that the sale went off with spirit. I chanced to sit next to the veterinary surgeon who attended my own stock as well as the herd on offer, and it was amusing to hear his confidential communications as the animals were sold at huge prices. He knew their faults and weaknesses professionally, and it was no breach of confidence, when a cow had passed through the ring and extracted a big figure from an American buyer, to whisper them in my ear. I noticed that the Americans, no doubt with commissions to buy a particular strain of pedigree, appeared to pay more attention to the catalogue than to the cattle themselves, and I saw some sold at fancy prices, which I should really have been sorry to see in my own non-pedigree herd. The sale was a great success, from the vendor's point of view at any rate, and I think the average exceeded seventy guineas all round, including calves only a few months old.
Some years later I visited Shipston-on-Stour with two friends to attend a shorthorn sale in that neighbourhood. Mr. Thornton, the well-known pedigree salesman, was the auctioneer. He waited about for a long time after the hour fixed for the sale, until it became evident that something had gone wrong. It appeared that the sheriff's representative had served a writ on the vendor restraining the sale, and although it was stated that Thornton had offered a personal guarantee that the proceeds should be handed over to the sheriff, the representative could not exceed his instructions, and the sale was abandoned. A large company, including many foreign buyers, had assembled; it was difficult to get these together at a postponement, and when the sale was proceeded with some weeks later, I fear the result could scarcely have proved so satisfactory.
The Vale of Evesham is particularly suitable for pedigree shorthorn breeding, as the soil and climate are very favourable for their production according to exhibition type. It is otherwise with the Jersey, for they quickly adapt themselves to the difference in their environment as compared with the conditions in their native Channel Island. When I exchanged my shorthorns for Jerseys, owing to the foreign competition in the production of beef, which at sevenpence a pound compared unfavourably with butter at fifteenpence, I imported my cows direct from the Island, and afterwards bred from their descendants, selling the bull calves, and occasionally buying a young bull from Jersey. The blood was therefore kept absolutely pure, and, as I was a member of the English Jersey Society, all my stock were entered in the Herd Book.
As time went on my cattle presented a noticeable change from the original type; they were larger, developing much more hair and bone, and though they gained in strength of constitution, and were handsome and profitable, they gradually lost the dainty deer-like appearance of the imported stock; and though quite as valuable for the purposes of the dairy, they would have been regarded in the show ring by connoisseurs as having a tendency to coarseness. I was, at first, successful at the shows, but as the character of my cattle altered I recognized that they would stand no chance against Jerseys bred on lighter land, and in a climate more nearly approximating to that of their native country.
Precisely the same thing happened with my pedigree Shropshire sheep; environment altered their character and produced a different type—bone, wool, and size all increased. The wool was coarser and darker in colour; they were good, useful, hardy stock, but could not compete in quality with the pedigree sheep bred in their own county. No pedigree Shropshire breeder will, as a rule, buy rams bred outside his own district, for fear of introducing coarseness and an alteration of the established exhibition type.
An amusing incident happened at Mr. Graham's sale at Yardley near Birmingham, at which I was present. Mr. Graham had a reputation as a Shropshire sheep-breeder; though not actually farming in the county, his land was not unsuitable, and, on one occasion, I believe, he won the first prize for a shearling ram at the show of the Royal Agricultural Society of England.
I noticed a very non-agricultural individual in a top hat, who tried to get into conversation with me and who succeeded in getting a luncheon ticket gratis. These sale luncheons were at the time very bountiful spreads, including plenty of champagne, and the man under my observation made a very hearty meal. Short speeches and toasts always follow, but an adjournment is quickly made to the sale tent, before the evaporation of the effects of the hospitality. It is the custom for a glove to be passed round to collect subscriptions for the shepherd, during the progress of the sale, and on this occasion two young fellows undertook the duty of collectors. The man, who had done himself so well at Mr. Graham's expense, was evidently not buying or even making bids, and to each of the collectors he said he had already contributed to the other. Being suspicious they compared notes, and found that he had made the same excuse to both. Such meanness after the hospitality he had received was intolerable; shouting, "He's a Welsher," they lifted him bodily, protesting and struggling, rushed him out of the tent into a neighbouring field, and cast him into a dirty pond covered with green and slimy duckweed! A miserable object he scrambled out, for the pond was shallow, and took his dishevelled and bedraggled presence away as fast as he could limp along, amid the laughter and jeers of the crowd.
The Hampshire Down ram sales in the palmy days of farming were organized upon the same scale of liberality, and while the sale was proceeding steam was kept up by handing round boxes of sixpenny cigars, and brandy and water in buckets. It is, of course, good policy to keep a company of buyers in good humour, but I think it has long since been recognized that hospitality was carried a little too far in those times of prosperity, and, in these degenerate if more business-like days, extravagance is much less evident, though there is a hearty welcome and abundance for all.
Agricultural shows under favourable weather conditions are always popular and well-attended. The large exhibitions of the Royal Agricultural Society of England, the Bath and West of England, and the Royal Counties, especially attract immense crowds; much business in novel implements, machinery, seeds, and artificial fertilizers, was done when times were good, and the towns in which the shows are held benefit by a large increase in general trade. The weather, however, is the arbiter as to the attendance, upon which the financial result of the show depends.
In 1879, the last of the miserable decade that ruined thousands of farmers all over the country with almost continuous wet seasons, poor crops, and wretched prices, the Royal Agricultural Society held its show at Kilburn. The ground had been carefully prepared and adapted for the great show with the usual liberal outlay; the work for next year's show always commencing as soon as the show of the current year is over; but the site was situated on the stiff London clay, and, after weeks of summer rains and the traffic caused by collecting the heavy engines and machinery and the materials used in the construction of the sheds and buildings, the ground was churned into a quagmire of clay and water, so that in places it was impassable, and some of the exhibits were isolated. Thousands of wattled hurdles were purchased in Hampshire, and laid flat on the mud along the main routes to the tents and sheds, but they were quickly trodden in out of sight. Many ponderous engines were bogged on their way to their appointed places; nothing could move them, and they remained looking like derelict wrecks, plastered with mud, sunk unevenly above the axles of their wheels.
I attended the show and shall never forget the scene of disaster. One afternoon the Prince of Wales—the late King Edward—and a Royal party made a gallant attempt, in carriages, to see the principal exhibits, and succeeded, by following a carefully selected and guarded route. The crowd was dense by the side of the track, and people were making a harvest by letting out chairs to stand on, so as to get a view of the procession, with cries of, "'Ere you are, sir; 'ere you are, warranted not to sink in more than a mile!" Outside the show-yard, too, the streets were lined with long rows of nondescripts, scraping the adhesive clay off the shoes of the people leaving the show.
I had a pocket of my hops on exhibition entered in the Worcester class, and had great difficulty in getting near it. I found the shed at last, deserted and surrounded by water, with a pool below the benches on which the hops were staged. My pocket was sold straight from the show-yard, and when my factor sent in the account, I found that the pocket had gained no less than seventeen pounds from the damp to which it had been subjected since it left my premises, about ten days previously; hops, at that time, were worth about 1s. a pound, so that the increased value more than balanced all expenses.
A story is told of Tennyson at the Royal Counties show at Guildford. Accompanied by a lady and child he was walking round the exhibits, closely followed by an ardent admirer, anxious to catch any nights of fancy that might fall from his lips. Time passed, and the poet showed no signs of inspiration until the party approached a refreshment tent; then, to the lady he said, to the astonishment of the follower, "Just look after this child a minute while I go and get a glass of beer!" I cannot vouch for the truth of this story, but I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.
It is surprising how long farm implements will last if kept in the dry and repaired when necessary. I remember a waggon at Alton in the seventies, which bore the name of the original owner and the date 1795; it was still in use. When I decided to give up farming, or rather, when farming had given up me, I disposed of my stock and implements by the usual auction sale. The attraction of a pedigree herd of Jerseys, and a useful lot of horses and implements, brought a large company together, and Aldington was a lively place that day. I was talking to my son-in-law some time afterwards, and spoke with amusement about the price an old iron Cambridge roller had made, not in the least knowing who was the purchaser, until he said, "AndI was the mugwho bought it!" I believe, however, that a year or two later it fully maintained its price when valued to the next owner, and probably to-day it must be worth at least three times the money. I can trace its history for a period of fifty-three years, and I don't think it was new at the beginning.